


take this waltz, it's yours now

by morecircumspect



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: 1920s, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Flirting, Homophobic Language, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Missing Scene, POV Alternating, Period-Typical Homophobia, Phone Calls & Telephones, Pillow Talk, Promises, Touching, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22090381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morecircumspect/pseuds/morecircumspect
Summary: "I'm glad," Richard said sincerely. "I'm sorry the night ended on such a horrid note, but I'm not sorry you got to dance with a nice fella. We have to seize our moments when we get them, don't we?""That we do."
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Richard Ellis
Comments: 79
Kudos: 262





	1. Thomas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smithens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smithens/gifts).



> I have not been able to get these two out of my head lately. Please forgive the simplicity of this offering, I'm still trying to find these guys' voices but I hope you enjoy all the same.
> 
> Title from a song I'm currently obsessed with - 'Take This Waltz' by Leonard Cohen.

"So what was his name?"

"Whose?"

"Whose, he asks." Ellis's mouth twitched, that way that made Thomas's stomach jump up into his throat. It reminded him of earlier, when he'd had that familiar sinking feeling of having spoiled everything, certain he'd lost this man's good opinion and friendship before it had even had a chance to properly begin, until Richard smiled at him outside the police station just as he was doing now.

And touched Thomas's lips with his finger. That too. _Touched_ his _lips_ with his _finger_.

He wasn't likely to forget the feeling anytime soon, nor the dizzying sense of relief he'd experienced when he finally _realised_ -

"The bloke you ditched me for, that's who." Ellis stirred his tea casually and lifted the cup to his mouth, eyes holding Thomas's across the rim. Clearly teasing. It was late, very late, and the tea was getting colder by the minute but Thomas pretended it wasn't, taking ever smaller sips.

He'd happily stay up all bloody night if it meant feeling like a regular person a couple hours longer. It happened so rarely.

"Mr. Ellis, I already apologised profusely-"

"You did, and I accepted the first time, if I recall correctly." He lowered his cup to its saucer soundlessly and placed his arms on the table. It was just them in the servants' hall, Thomas in his rightful chair - the butler's chair at the head of the table - and Richard on his right hand side, normally Mrs. Hughes's place. His hat sat on the tabletop next to him, his coat draped neatly over the next chair. Correct and fastidious, Ellis was everything one would expect of a Buckingham Palace servant, but as a private person he had a mischievous side to him as well, as Thomas had discovered to his delight. "And I wish you would call me Richard. Or Dick, like my friends do. At least when we're alone."

Thomas's face burned. For God's sake, he was almost forty - he hadn't blushed like this since his mum caught him pleasuring himself in the garden shed when he was fourteen. Not even when he seduced a duke. "Thomas."

Amusement flickered in Richard's eyes. "If I had known you were keen on dancing, I'd have taken you to a club myself, you know."

"To Turton's?" Thomas asked incredulously, and Richard shook his head.

"No, I didn't know about that place. Been gone from York too long, so I'm not exactly up to date on the latest. But a regular club maybe." Ellis's smile was resigned, a little sad perhaps. "Couldn't've danced together, obviously, but could've used my eyes. And my imagination."

Thomas had an active imagination himself - it was part of who he was, part of what helped keep life interesting - and it was already working overtime. Mr. Ellis - Richard - dancing with some local lass, in shirtsleeves and braces. A button or two undone and tie loose around his shoulders. Thomas gulped none too surreptitiously; good _God_ , what was wrong with him?

"I'd have enjoyed that," he managed to stammer. Flirting just a little bit, but poorly, and he chided himself for it at once. Sure, Richard was a man like him, who had stuck his neck out for him at great personal risk, but he might have done that for any bloke.

 _We have to stick together, men like us_. Verbatim.

Ellis bumped Thomas's elbow. Companionably, Thomas told himself. As chums did. "So... tell me his name."

"Chris. Chris Webster." Thomas felt a pang of guilt. "I hope he- I hope they're going to be alright. I doubt anyone else had a Mr. Ellis to bust them out of jail."

"I hope so, too." Richard stared down into his cup, fiddling with the teaspoon. "It's not right, is it."

"No, none of it's right."

The clock struck three. Thomas had had Andy wind it just the day before, but right now he wished from the bottom of his heart that he hadn't, cursing the thing for reminding them of the relentless forward march of time. The tea was now so cold and bitter that he shuddered at the taste of it going down his throat, but he thought he masked it quite well. Richard seemed too preoccupied to notice, anyway, and Thomas didn't think that was an act.

He used the opportunity to add more milk.

"Handsome, was he?" Richard eventually asked. No envy or hard feelings there, just curiosity. "Mr. Webster?"

 _Had worse_ , Thomas thought. "Quite," he said. "Tall, deep-voiced. Good dancer." _And he seemed to be into me_ , he thought in wonder _. Figure that._

"I'm glad," Richard said sincerely. "I'm sorry the night ended on such a horrid note, but I'm not sorry you got to dance with a nice fella. We have to seize our moments when we get them, don't we?"

"That we do." It still felt bizarre to be talking about 'we' and 'us' to someone like him, working class lad who _understood_ because he journeyed along the same path.

God, it felt incredible.

Thomas breathed out, some tension leaving him. His unmarred hand crept across the table, found Richard's just a few inches away and squeezed. In spite of everything that had happened before, it still felt like a daring thing to do, but Richard didn't flinch. He simply turned his hand around and squeezed back, smiling. It was surreal to be doing this here, like he'd stepped into a parallel universe. Surreal and utterly, utterly lovely.

"Mr- ummm, Dick," Thomas stuttered.

"Yes?"

"Shall I-" He licked his lips, cleared his throat. God, he was ridiculous, but the gentle press of Richard's fingers against his own unlocked something inside of him, made him feel like a braver man than he by any right could claim to be. "Would you like more tea?"

Richard laughed quietly, looking down at their hands on the table. It was so late that they didn't even have to glance at the door every five seconds or listen for every little noise, and when would they next have the luxury? "I would, Thomas," he answered. "In a minute, if that's okay."


	2. Richard

In the end, Richard saw that he was going to have to be the sensible one and send Mr. Barrow to bed. Thomas was all but falling asleep where he sat, slurring his words like a drunkard even though he'd drunk nothing but tea and milk and any alcohol he may have imbibed prior to his jail stint should have long been flushed from his system by now.

Still, he protested like a petulant child when Richard gently told him to get some sleep and stood up to clear away their cups. "You don't have to do that. Under this roof you are our guest."

"I don't mind doing it," Richard assured him, but Thomas still got up to help. Silently they washed up and dried and put the cups away so Mrs. Patmore would find her kitchen undisturbed in the morning. Which, as it so happened, was not at all far off.

"The scullery maid'll be up and making her round in less than two hours," Thomas said, swaying on his feet a little and stifling a yawn, looking embarrassed. Butlers didn't yawn, not even when it was past three in the morning after what must have been an emotional whirlwind of an evening.

Richard took him by the elbow, gently holding him up. "What time do you get up, six?" Thomas nodded. "I'm sure you can get away with sleeping in just a little. After all, you're not on duty. We've both been substituted by our betters, haven't we."

Thomas chuckled a little. "No, mustn't start slipping," he mumbled. "Standards to maintain."

"Sounds like something Mr. Carson would say."

"Well, he trained me. Made me in his image. Or tried to, anyway." Thomas shrugged and smiled, and unexpectedly brought his hand up to cup Richard's cheek. _Oh_ , Richard thought, looking into the other man's eyes and seeing his own open wonder and secret want reflected in them. "I wish you would kiss me," Thomas breathed. Plaintive, tremulous. "Would that be a lot to ask?"

Very polite, was Mr. Barrow. Also a bit daring, to the point of foolhardiness, like when he gave the landlord his real name. Richard had almost had an aneurysm when he got to the pub and put two and two together and hightailed it out of there to go see what he could salvage.

Not exactly what he'd envisaged when he told his Mum he'd better be heading off if he wanted to make good on his promise of showing Mr. Barrow the fun side of York.

 _"Are you meeting one of your old friends?" Mrs. Ellis had asked. "Nicky perhaps? I run into him at the village occasionally and he always asks after you..."_

_"No, Mum, you don't know him. Mr. Barrow is the butler at the house where I'm currently staying. He's had a bitter pill to swallow professionally and was feeling a bit down in the dumps, so I figured I'd take him out for a beer. Try and cheer him up some."_

_"That's nice of you, Dickie." She brushed her hands down his lapels, fixed his tie. He was always fiddling with his tie when he was nervous, and he was nervous about meeting Mr. Barrow. "Is he... a good man?"_

_"I believe so, Mum."_

_"Good." Something in her face relaxed. "Be careful all the same. Promise me that?"_

_"I promise, Mum." Little did he know, as he leaned down to kiss her cheek, just how much he would be risking barely an hour later to make sure Lord Grantham didn't lose his butler._

No, he corrected himself. It wasn't Lord Grantham he'd thought of when he walked into that police station with a story he wouldn't be proud to repeat under any circumstances. His sole thought was of Thomas, of the humiliation he'd already been subjected to that night and the ruin he would face when the case came before a judge, even with Lord Grantham taking the stand as a character witness. No, Thomas had to be talked off the hook quickly and efficiently before it came to that, even if Richard had to act like a bigot and use His Majesty's name as currency to accomplish it.

In the warmth and safety of this beautiful house, he shuddered to think of the danger, the broken promise to his mother. But he also knew that it had all been worth it. Mr. Barrow had all been worth it. And he would do it again in a heartbeat.

He moved his hand from Thomas's elbow to his waist, put the other on the side of Thomas's neck. Smiled. He didn't want what had to come next to be interpreted as rejection. "I'd like to very much. Kiss you, that is. I want you to know that."

"But..."

Richard sighed regretfully. "But you're drunk on gratitude and sleep deprivation, Mr. Barrow. You're barely hanging on. If I kiss you now, you may not even remember it in the morning."

"I would," Thomas said heatedly, eyes fierce. Richard found he liked that side of him very much. He wondered what he had been like as a younger man and wanted to find out, even though Thomas had already insinuated he didn't look back on his past with any great pride. "I will remember everything."

"As will I. Don't ever doubt it." Richard knew he ought to be stepping back, even if the scullery maid was still sleeping soundly on one ear, but couldn't bring himself to just yet. The tea had calmed his nerves some, but being so near Thomas made his body thrum with adrenaline once again, and he selfishly allowed himself to indulge just a little longer. "We will find a moment together in the morning, before I leave. I promise."

"Only a moment..." Thomas sighed, deflating a little, and lowered his eyes. "That's all we ever get, isn't it? Snippets."

"All the more reason to make them count, Mr. Barrow." The formality was deliberate this time, an attempt to make Thomas smile again, and he believed he was almost successful, because he at least looked up and met Richard's eyes again. He looked young in this light, and Richard must be half delirious with exhaustion himself because he'd swear he could hear the walls whispering around them. Surely it couldn't be the first time two men had stolen an embrace within these walls, Richard thought defiantly. How sad if so. "Come on, I'll walk up with you. See you reach your bed safely. Can't have the butler taking a tumble down the stairs when he's set to resume his duties in a few hours."

"If they still want me."

"Of course they still want you. They'd be mad not to."

And with that, Richard leaned in as though moved by an invisible hand more reckless than he was, and kissed Thomas's forehead.


	3. Thomas

The next morning - or more accurately, a few short hours later - there was a knock on Thomas's bedroom door. "I'm up," he said in a loud voice, expecting Albert or perhaps Andy.

When the door opened a crack, however, it was neither. "May I come in?" Richard asked.

Thomas's fingers instantly stumbled on the buttons of his waistcoat, but he did manage to muster what he hoped was a professional smile. Just outside, in the corridor, the typical pre-breakfast bustle was in full swing. "Mr. Ellis, good morning."

Richard took a few steps into Thomas's private little domain, leaving the door open. "I came to see how you were. How did you sleep?"

"Briefly." Thomas laughed. By force of habit, he checked his watch before sliding it into his pocket and arranging the chain. "Very briefly indeed. But otherwise quite well, thank you. I hope you managed to catch a few winks, yourself."

"'A few' about sums it up. But I can nap on the train." Richard glanced around the room. Thomas didn't have many personal possessions on display; one of the exceptions were a couple of children's drawings pinned to the wall, including a rough portrait of Thomas that George had made specially for him. In the bottom right corner, Lady Mary had written in her elegant hand: 'for Mr. Barrow, who gives the best piggy back rides, from his friend George (aged 5)'. Richard studied it with a little smile, hands linked behind his back.

"Master George has quite a talent for the arts," Thomas said, to fill the silence more than anything. It was strange to have Mr. Ellis standing in the middle of his bedroom like this - tall and handsome and meticulously pomaded - while the royal and Downton staff were running about, all trying to get ready at the same time. "The lad takes after his mother in that way."

"Does he, indeed?"

"Lady Mary is quite adept at watercolours. Mr. Crawley on the other hand- ah, bloody hell, where did I put my tie?"

Thomas started going through his drawers. He had little patience for these things and was about to pull a tie from his clean supply when Ellis tapped him on the shoulder, holding up the lost item. "This what you're looking for? It was sticking out of your pocket." He nodded at Thomas's jacket, which hung from its hanger by the door.

"Thanks," Thomas murmured, and he reached to take it, but Richard shook his head slightly, taking the smallest of steps closer.

"Let me..."

Thomas stood very still, shocked into silence, holding his breath inside his lungs as Richard lifted the item over his head and looped it around his neck. "Mr. Ellis, what..." He glanced nervously towards the door. The _wide open_ door. "I don't think-"

"Have you ever heard the phrase, _hiding in plain sight_ , Mr. Barrow?" Richard said in a low voice, smiling as he laid the knot with practiced fingers. "I happen to be a valet with some time on his hands and I'm helping you with your tie, nothing untoward about that."

Thomas doubted anyone passing by would see it that way, but damn if he didn't enjoy being the one getting dressed for a change. "You are a bold one and no mistake," he breathed. "You have no business telling a man to be more circumspect."

Richard's eyes narrowed in amusement, something Thomas had noticed before and found completely endearing. He wondered if Richard could tell how frantically his heart was beating, but dared not ask. There was something about being so near a fellow man - this one in particular - that made him feel so... _alive_. He had felt it in the club last night and he felt it now.

These memories were going to sustain him for a little while. They would have to.

Richard fixed his collar and smoothed Thomas's tie one last time before stepping away. Then he even helped Thomas shrug into his jacket, casually almost, as if a royal valet dressing an earl's butler were an everyday occurrence. "Thank you, Mr. Ellis, you are most kind," he murmured, though for whose benefit he was keeping up the act he didn't know. It had gone mostly quiet outside - most of the staff would have gone down by now to perform their various tasks and have breakfast.

"Just trying to be helpful where I can," Richard said. His hands lingered near Thomas's shoulders just a fraction longer than would be considered appropriate. Their eyes met directly and Thomas's breath stuck in his throat, their exchanges from the night before still fresh in his mind. In a flash, Thomas wondered if he was about to be kissed right then and there.

Footsteps outside. Richard calmly stepped away, and both of them turned to see Miss Baxter's slender frame appear in the doorway. The door between the men's and women's quarters was open more often than not these days, and no one really batted an eye at any trespassing anymore.

"Good morning, Miss Baxter," Thomas said cheerily. He was glad it was her. Of all the people in the house, she was the least likely to scream blue murder at finding two men standing within kissing distance from each other. In fact, even though Richard had moved away, Thomas suspected from the way her eyes traveled between the both of them that Miss Baxter wasn't the least bit fooled.

"Good morning, Mr. Ellis, Thomas." He did not correct her for using his Christian name in this situation. "I'm glad to see you made it home safely, we didn't see you come in last night before we went to bed. Did you have a nice evening in York?"

"It was interesting, let's leave it at that," Thomas said with a meaningful _I'll-tell-you-later_ wiggle of his eyebrows. He would have to tell _someone_ or he would surely explode. Her eyes widened, and then so did her smile.

"Indeed," Richard said, stifling laughter. "Thank you, Miss Baxter, for cordially helping me get Mr. Barrow out of the house yesterday."

She smiled. "I barely did anything. But I'm glad Mr. Barrow occasionally takes a word of advice on board."

"Don't I usually?" Thomas asked.

"Not until recently," she reminded him gently, "and not always from the right person, either."

He blushed slightly and looked at Richard, who appeared to be following their interaction with warm interest. It made his heart sink a little, knowing that he might one day have to tell Richard what an angry and unhappy young man he'd been, how spiteful and selfish his actions a lot of the time.

He was trying to do better, he truly was. But some of his old temper had resurfaced when he walked out slamming doors because being replaced by the old general hurt _so damn much_ , and he had a feeling he hadn't heard the last of that.

 _You are your own worst enemy sometimes._

"All right, enough of that," he said quickly, before Baxter or Richard caught on. "Let's go and join the others. We'll be the last ones down at this rate."


	4. Thomas

For once, it didn't bother Thomas yielding his place to Mr. Carson. Normally it would have done, because despite having earned his stripes he still felt he had something to prove as a young butler, but sat beside Miss Baxter listening to the royal staff's protestations he was more than happy to spoon his porridge and trade the occasional look of understanding with Mr. Ellis. He was sure no one noticed how often their eyes found each other. The sour-faced Miss Lawton seemed too occupied shooting glares at Anna for some reason to pay Thomas any attention, and that was fine by him too. It saved him from having to make small talk when he would much rather study the way Mr. Ellis buttered his toast and smiled into his tea every so often, like he was amused by something, but it wasn't always clear what.

More than anything, Thomas longed to know what was going through the other man's mind. They thought so similarly about so many things, it was quite extraordinary to find a kinded spirit where he had once thought none existed, to be able to talk without reservations and laugh about things no one else could possibly begin to understand. Had Mr. Ellis experienced that before? Because Thomas most definitely hadn't.

He didn't want to give it up, but he knew that he must. Owing to some auspicious confluence of circumstances, they'd been able to wrangle some time together the day before, but today duty called once again and for Ellis, it was calling from London. And that was just his luck, wasn't it? To find someone he could really grow to like - someone kind, witty, and attractive - but who lived all the way down in the capital.

 _Don't be ungrateful_ , Thomas admonished himself, even as he smiled distractedly at something Miss Baxter said. _Was a time when you didn't think you deserved even this much. Not that long ago even, if memory serves_.

Again, his and Mr. Ellis's eyes met across the table, and Ellis raised his eyebrows a fraction. Questioningly, concerned almost, as if he'd cottoned on to the less than happy turn of Thomas's thoughts. Thomas lifted the corners of his mouth in what he hoped was a reassuring smile - or an approximation thereof - but judging from Richard's lingering look, he wasn't as convincing as he would have liked to be.

It seemed he had discovered the one drawback of happiness - once you'd had a sip of it, you wanted to drain the whole chalice.

After breakfast, as the Downton staff dispersed and the royal contingent went up to finish packing, Thomas fled into the courtyard and lit a cigarette, leaning heavily into one of the brick walls that had given him some privacy and solitude on past occasions and trying not to cry.

"I haven't seen you smoke in a while, Mr. Barrow."

Had Mrs. Hughes followed him out here? She was carrying something, to throw out possibly, but it might just as well have been a ruse. It was something she would do, to spare him embarrassment.

"Been trying to cut back," he muttered, smiling a self-deprecating smile as he let the smoke escape from his mouth slowly. "Guess I'll try again tomorrow, huh?"

She stepped a little closer, kind eyes trained upon him. "Are you quite all right, Mr. Barrow?"

"Of course, Mrs. Hughes," he said flatly, wishing she would let him be. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Only, I imagine it must have been difficult to be asked to hand over the reins at a time like this. It was such a fine chance for you to shine, or it would have been if not for the _page of the backstairs_." Her lip curled in barely suppressed contempt. "Personally, I thought it was wrong of Lady Mary to twist Mr. Carson's arm, I don't mind admitting that."

"I'm sure not much twisting was needed at all," Thomas said. He surprised himself with how resigned he felt about it all. "Lady Mary just wanted Downton to make a good impression, and she obviously thought Mr. Carson would do a better job than I. That is her prerogative, and she may even be right."

"That is very humble of you, Mr. Barrow, but I'm not sure it's deserved." She smiled and turned to continue on her way. "Will you join us in seeing the royal party off?"

The mere thought of it - standing at salute and pretending his heart didn't break at the sight of the royal caravan pulling out of the drive - made him ill. "No, I don't think so. What would be the point of two butlers being there?"

She nodded and started back towards the house, but before she'd taken two steps- "Mrs. Hughes."

He couldn't meet her gaze, so he focused instead on the cobble beneath his feet, the ember glow of his cigarette as he took a deep drag to fortify himself. "I'm sorry I never properly thanked you."

"What ever for?"

"We talked before. Right here on this spot, or very close to it. You were one of the very few, you and Anna, who were kind to me about- about Jimmy. The whole sorry affair."

She smiled at him in gentle understanding. "It costs nothing to be kind. Do you still hear from James occasionally?"

"Christmas cards and such. He warned me he wasn't much of a writer." Thomas had smoked the cigarette right down to his fingernails. He dropped the stub and crushed it under his shoe, pensive. "But my point, Mrs. Hughes... You told me that day, I just hadn't found the right person yet. And you said it like... like you thought I was actually worth it. To have a person."

"Well, I still believe that. And so should you." Reaching out, she put her hand on his arm, waited until he looked up and met her eye. "Do you?"

By force of habit, he glanced around before answering to make sure the courtyard was empty. No one else need be privy to this confession. "I think I might be starting to," he said, very quietly.

"Good." Eyes warm, she squeezed his forearm and on impulse, he covered her hand with his own. "Hold on to that, Thomas. You have come such a long way, and I hope you see that as much as we do. You are quite a different man today."

"Only because of people like you, Mrs. Hughes, who kept giving me chances until I finally wised up." His mouth twisted. "Had to hit rock bottom first, though."

Something sad passed over her face. She had been one of the people to pull him from the bath tub that day, but he couldn't remember if they'd actually talked about it before now. He didn't suppose the memory of what she'd seen that day would ever leave her, and he was sorry for it. "Well. Let's just be grateful you're still here, and rock bottom wasn't the end of the road."

"I give thanks for that every- well, most days." He waited a few moments more before gently breaking contact, grateful she hadn't pulled away first like most people would. Most people weren't keen to touch him to begin with.

Mr. Ellis was an exception, of course. Mr. Ellis - _Dick_ \- had seemed keen, very keen indeed. But Mr. Ellis was about to catch a train to London and Thomas was a damn coward for hiding out here. As if he could delay the dreaded moment of parting that way. The royal circus abided by no one's time table but its own.

Mrs. Hughes was surveying him with a queer little smile. "Well then, I'd best get on. Are you staying here, Mr. Barrow, or are you coming in?"

Thomas sighed and conceded, "I think I'd best join you, Mrs. Hughes, and be ready to pick up the baton again... if and when Mr. Carson decides to relinquish it."


	5. Richard

Richard finished packing with a little under twenty minutes to spare before departure, and went downstairs to find Thomas. He was relieved not to cross paths with Mr. Wilson on the way - it wouldn't do to be spotted idling when the now bare-bones royal staff were running about to see Their Majesties off on schedule. In Mr. Wilson's world, even a ten-second delay was akin to catastrophe. A minute would be unthinkable, never to be recovered from.

But Richard had other priorities this morning.

One, to be exact.

The servants' hall had emptied, all traces of breakfast wiped away. The kitchen on the other hand was a beehive of activity, as kitchens almost always were, but Richard decided to check the butler's pantry before trespassing into Mrs. Patmore's territory. She seemed like the jolly matriarchal type at first glance, but Messrs. Wilson and Courbet had already discovered to their detriment that it was not a good idea to get on her bad side.

And the same went for all of the Downton staff, come to think of it. Richard had observed them in their daily doings and they bickered amongst themselves like normal people living in close quarters did, but when they pulled together they were a force to be reckoned with. Richard rather liked that, envied it, even; he'd be lying if he claimed otherwise.

He passed the boot room on his way to the pantry and peered inside. No Mr. Barrow here either, but Richard had a smile to spare for Mrs. Bates as well. "G'day, Mrs. Bates."

"Hello, Mr. Ellis." She looked up from her task to smile back. No one, not even Mr. Wilson, would ever suspect this pretty, petite woman of masterminding a plot like the one Thomas had described on the drive to the post office the day before. Her gaze went to the coat draped over his arm, the hat in his hand. "You'll be off soon then?"

"I will." He nodded, glancing further up the corridor. "Only I was looking for Mr. Barrow. Do you know where I can find him?"

"He's up in his pantry, I think. Hoping Mr. Carson will remember his veggie patch before too long." She smiled, and he chuckled at the good-natured jest. "Did you have a nice time in York yesterday?"

He nodded, astonished at how genuinely interested these people were in Thomas and in him, even. No one in the royal household would ever care to ask if he'd had a nice family visit or how he'd spent his half-day. "We did, thank you. Mrs. Bates-"

"Anna."

"Do you... It is my understanding that you are Mr. Barrow's friend. Would you say that's true?"

She looked surprised. "I'd like to think that I am. But to be honest, I'd be astonished to hear Mr. Barrow describes me in those terms."

"Well, he trusts you, I know that much." Richard hesitated. Was he being too forward? Saying things he had better not?

"That is high praise." She said it completely unironically. "I hope never to betray anyone's trust. May I ask why you are telling me this, Mr. Ellis?"

"I... I am not exactly sure, myself." He blushed and ducked his head, embarrassed. He was usually more careful than this. He had barely exchanged ten words with this woman before now, but she and Thomas had worked together for a long time, hadn't they? And if Thomas trusted her, why shouldn't he extend the same courtesy? "I suppose I'm just rather... touched, for want of a better word. A friend close by is a good thing to have."

"It is." She appeared to be finishing up. "Actually, Mr. Ellis-"

"Richard."

"It is my understanding that we are to thank you. Mr. Barrow told me what you did yesterday."

For a moment, he thought she was thanking him for saving Downton from a scandalous court case involving its butler, but then her true meaning dawned on him. "Just a phone call, Mrs. Bates, but you are welcome."

"It was very generous of you," she continued, "after all, you work with these people..."

"Perhaps," he said, and shrugged, "but I'm also a Yorkshire lad, country lad, and one tires of palace types like Mr. Wilson looking down their noses at the likes of us."

"Quite right." She picked up a pair of women's riding boots. "Well, I'd best get these to Lady Mary. I hope you have a pleasant journey home, Mr. Ellis. Should you be in the area again in future, will you be stopping by?"

All things considered, Richard didn't think it would be too risqué to answer truthfully. "I should like to, very much."

Thomas was just getting off the phone with someone when Richard put his head around the door. "Shall I come back in a minute?" Richard mouthed, but Thomas waved him inside, putting the receiver down.

"I've been on the phone with the police station," he volunteered. "Pretending to be Chris Webster's brother and making inquiries about him."

"Isn't that rather risky?"

"Well," Thomas shrugged, smiling a little smile, "to quote someone I know, they couldn't trace the call back to me even if they cared to try. If I can find a way to bail him out, I will."

Richard couldn't help but be impressed by this man's loyalty and daring. Still, "Do be careful, Thomas."

"I will. I have no wish to see the inside of a jail cell again, I can assure you." Thomas paused, taking in Richard's coat and hat. "So you're off to London then."

"They'll drop me at the station. Catching the ten o'clock."

"Well, I hope we can keep in touch." Thomas looked a bit sheepish as he said it, timid almost, as if he wasn't entirely sure of Richard's response. As if they hadn't been flirting outrageously all this time and come within a hair of kissing the night before, and again this morning. As if Richard wasn't burning at the thought of kissing him at this very moment. "Do you- are you a writer of letters at all?"

"I think I can be for you, Mr. Barrow."

Thomas flushed slightly. His gaze went towards the door, a look of disappointment and frustration crossing his face at realising that Richard had once again left it open. Paradoxically, Richard had found that it was often safer that way - people were less suspicious of what they could see than of what they couldn't. _Hiding in plain sight._ Up to a degree, of course.

Outside, far enough away, Mr. Carson seemed to be rounding up the staff to pay their respects to Their Majesties. Time was running out. So if Thomas was labouring under the impression that Richard would let himself be stopped by something as inconsequential as an open door...

"I should like to kiss you now, Thomas," he said below his breath. "If I may?"

Thomas's eyes widened slightly, the tip of his tongue flicking nervously across his bottom lip, but he nodded without hesitation and Richard stepped closer. He would like to do this like men in the pictures did, kissing their sweethearts goodbye on some train platform or windswept quayside, but that would be pushing it even for him. So instead of taking Thomas into his arms he laid his hand upon his shoulder and leaned across the gap to gently kiss him, heart exalting when Thomas pressed eagerly forward and reached up to bury trembling fingers into Richard's hair...

It was sweet, and fragile, and every bit as heavenly as he'd imagined.


	6. Thomas

Long after Richard had gone - he'd seemed reluctant to leave, hadn't he, Thomas hadn't imagined the way he'd lingered, and lingered some more, saying things like _think of me_ and _until we meet again_ until finally Mr. Carson hollered down the stairs and there was nothing for it but to obey - Thomas sat in his pantry and stared at the fob Richard had given him, thumb tracing the little crescent moon pictured on the medallion. It was a fine thing, too fine for a country butler or a palace servant to wear, but there had been so little time and Thomas had been too overcome by the memory of Richard's lips on his own to ask how the item had come to be in his possession. Perhaps an heirloom. Or a gift from a former lover, now passed on to him.

What did it mean? Obviously, Richard was keen that Thomas should not forget about him. Thomas was familiar with the concept of courtship gifts, albeit not from personal experience. Was that was this was, then? Was he being _courted_? Should he have reciprocated? But what could he possibly have offered?

 _Thomas Barrow has a fancy man_. The thought was so preposterous - in a delightful way - that he chortled, shaking his head in disbelief. On impulse, he lifted the medallion to his lips and kissed it, feeling like a right fool but smiling at finding this sentimental side in himself.

Oh, he must really have it bad.

At some point, Anna stuck her head around the door and said something about Mr. Carson staying on until luncheon and could Thomas be standing by to take over again after that?

"Mr. Barrow? Lady Mary asks-"

"Luncheon, yeah, I heard." He nodded distractedly. "Tell Lady Mary I'll be delighted to resume my duties at her pleasure."

The fact that his response was completely devoid of any sarcasm seemed to surprise her, but she didn't comment. "Mr. Ellis was looking for you earlier. Did he find you?"

"He found me."

Still, she lingered in the doorway, hesitating a moment before stepping inside. He discreetly slipped the fob into his pocket before she could see it and ask questions. It was too private, too fresh and too fragile to be talked about.

"A fine man, Mr. Ellis," Anna said. "We're in his debt after yesterday."

 _You have no idea._ "That we are." _In more ways than one, too._

"How did you know to trust him?"

Thomas shrugged. "Just a feeling."

"Well, thank God your instincts weren't off the mark."

"Give me a little credit, Mrs. Bates." He grinned. "It's you who has surprised me the most in all this, though. Quite the little schemer if you want to be. I'm impressed."

"Fight fire with fire. Learned that from my mother."

He picked up a pen and played with it, turning it around in his fingers. "Well, since we're here... let me use the opportunity to thank you, for letting me be part of it. For the longest time, I felt like I was on the outside looking in. Like I didn't belong. But yesterday I felt like I was part of a bigger whole, and I won't forget that."

"You _are_ one of us, Mr. Barrow," she said, smiling. She had a way of saying it that made it even easier to believe. "I know you've had your squabbles with various people but I wish you would let that go. It's in the past."

He smiled weakly. Her choice of words - _squabbles_ \- misrepresented the extent of his many misbehaviours, of which he was truly ashamed, but before he could correct her, the telephone rang. It startled him, to the point of flinching, and his first thought was of Sergeant Willis.

 _Don't be paranoid_ , he told himself. _There is no way they can know it was you who made those calls about Chris Webster._

But what if they were calling about his own charges, dropped or not? What if Mr. Ellis-of-the-royal-household's story hadn't stood up to scrutiny somehow?

Suddenly, sweat in his palms. Heart in his throat. The taste of fear on the back of his tongue, closely similar to what he'd experienced the night before when he and the other men were herded into the Black Marias like livestock off to slaughter.

"I'll leave you," Anna said, as she turned to do so. "Shall I close the door?"

"Please do." Thomas's mouth was dry. "Thank you." He waited for the click of the door closing before picking up the receiver, clearing his throat. "Downton Abbey, the butler speaking."

"Mr. Barrow." It took Thomas a second to recognise the voice on the other end, and he almost dropped the receiver from suddenly-numb fingers. The voice was familiar, and so was the smile hiding in it, traveling through the telephone line to make Thomas's heart jump into his mouth for all the right reasons. "Glad to hear you're still the butler. But I did tell you so, didn't I?"

Thomas couldn't respond straight away. He pulled up a chair and sat down slowly. "Where are you calling from?" he whispered.

"Station master's office." Casually triumphant. "Told him it was urgent. Complete privacy required."

"You would do that." Thomas couldn't help smiling. "I bet that calling card of yours came in handy again, too."

"Believe it or not, Mr. Barrow, but I don't wave that thing about every time I need a favour. Besides, I don't have it anymore. Gave it to someone who didn't give it back."

"What a cad."

"Indeed."

"You just have the one?"

"Generally just the one on my person, yeah. Don't usually need more."

"That's strangely reassuring."

"Is it, Mr. Barrow?"

A moment of silence, charged but not unpleasant. Far from unpleasant.

"The reason I called," Richard went on, "is that I realised I forgot something."

"Which is...?"

"To let you know that I can operate a telephone as well as write letters."

It occurred to Thomas that if anyone were to walk in at this very moment, they'd see him grinning like an idiot. "Well, I did know _that_. I've known that since the post office, yesterday."

"Still, I thought it would be good to remind you. Right away."

"I appreciate that, but..." Thomas glanced at the clock. "Shouldn't you be boarding your train right about now?"

"I've got a minute to spare." Another brief pause, and when he spoke again his voice was low, little more than a murmur. "I will be thinking about how it felt to kiss you all the way to London."

Thomas closed his eyes, a tremendous feeling of happiness washing over him. It didn't take much effort to bring that moment to the forefront of his mind, however brief it had been. Everything, from the tip of Richard's nose pressing into his cheek to the scent of his pomade, it was all right there for his recollection and enjoyment.

And then he opened his mouth and stupidity came tumbling out. "I didn't do that with Webster, you know."

Richard didn't sound offended, thank God, just amused. "I never asked."

"I wanted to tell you regardless." _Even if I'm not entirely sure why._ "I can't tell you what would have happened if the police hadn't shown up, but we only danced."

"You owe me no explanations, Thomas," Richard said kindly. "Nor promises, neither. But I hope I'm not speaking out of turn if I say that... I like you. Very much."

"Only because you don't know me."

"Well, we can work on that. Letter by letter, conversation by conversation. If you're comfortable with that."

"I am," Thomas said, and immediately corrected himself, "I will be." _I must be_. _Even if it means you'll hate me by the end._

"Good," Richard said, and damn if he didn't sound genuinely _delighted_. "I am looking forward to it tremendously. But now I'm afraid I must go before I miss this train and have to spend another hour at this train station."

"Could spend it talking to me," Thomas suggested, because he too could be cheeky.

"Love to," Richard said, not missing a beat, and he chuckled, "but I don't think the station master would be quite that accommodating."

Thomas nodded. He was right, of course. "I wish I had thought to give you something, too."

"There's always next time." Richard, bless him, ever the optimist, making it sound like there was no doubt in his mind there'd be a next time. There was a silence, and for a moment Thomas thought the call had been cut off. "Until then, keep the chain and think of me whenever you look at it. I'll be happy picturing you that way. Goodbye, Thomas."

_Goodbye. Travel safely. Don't forget me. That kiss was incredible. Don't go. I'll miss you every day. You and your smile and your messy tie and your infinite understanding and your drawl and your mouth-_

"Goodbye, Dick," he whispered, and then the line went dead for real and Thomas was left with only the sound of the dial tone in his ear.


	7. Richard

With a grin on his face that he couldn't be bothered to hide, Richard stepped out of the little office and tipped his hat at the station master. Keeping that balance between jovial and polite. "Thank you, my good man. Most kind of you."

The chap could hardly have looked more disinterested if he'd tried, but that was just fine by Richard. The less interest regular folks took in him, the better. "Crisis averted, then? Better hurry if you want to catch this one."

"I do. You have a splendid day, now." He crossed the platform in a few strides and hauled himself aboard the steaming and hissing train, moments before it whistled departure and slowly pulled away. He'd cut it close - ten seconds longer and His Majesty's shoes and dress shirts would have been on their way to London unattended, which would have made for very sloppy valeting.

Still, one had to choose one's priorities with care, and that phone call had paid itself back a hundredfold. Grinning, casting a last fond glance at the town of his youth, he pulled the door shut and turned to find a seat.

"You're a lucky one." From behind a newspaper a man emerged, nodding at Richard. "You look like you've been sprinting a mile a minute."

Richard normally didn't mind a companion to make conversation with on a long journey, but today he would have much preferred a compartment to himself to reminisce about his days in Yorkshire. He didn't want to be rude, however, so he took a seat facing the man. "Sure felt like it," he said, though he wasn't even slightly out of breath and he was certain any colour on his cheeks was due to different reasons entirely. "Mind you, I wasn't that keen to leave York, but I'd have had some explaining to do if I missed this one."

"Carrying no luggage at all?"

"Already on board." Richard opened his coat and shrugged it off, hanging it up along with his hat. Then he shook the man's hand. "Richard Ellis."

"Paul Norris. You a local chap, Ellis?"

"I am."

"You sound it. Traveling for business or pleasure?"

Richard considered, just for a second. "Pleasure. Been visiting my folks, catching up with old friends, that sort of thing. I've lived and worked in London for years now, but there's nothing better than to come up here every so often and remind myself what the Yorkshire air smells like."

"Amen to that." Norris offered him a cigarette, and since Richard thought it might be ungentlemanly to refuse, he took it. Silently they both lit up, puffing away for a minute. Richard realised it was his first smoke of the day, and yet he hadn't even felt the cravings. Clearly he had been too distracted to.

Did he have a suspicion as to why that was? Yes. Could he afford to dwell on that this very minute? Most definitely not.

Norris asked him what kind of work he did, and Richard made up a story. He did that fairly often, because one - a man like him could never be too careful, and two - telling people that he sometimes dressed the King of England for a living rarely led to intelligent conversation. He'd told people he worked in finance for a while, but that had quickly backfired when complete strangers started asking him for advice on how to invest their money. So these days, he usually picked insurance or advertising, something boring enough to discourage further questions, and spun some elaborate story until his conversation partner was happy to change the subject.

He'd learned to manipulate his fellow man, all right. He took no enjoyment from it, because his dear Christian mother had raised him not to lie - until she realised the nature of the secret he carried inside of him and the danger it posed, at which point she had told him in no uncertain terms to lie as often as was required to keep himself safe - but he was glad for the skill and no mistake. It had saved him from ruin more than once. Thomas Barrow, too. He didn't like to think of himself as some sort of saviour in this scenario, however, and Thomas's gratitude had almost made him uncomfortable. It was true what he'd told Thomas - men in their situation had to stick together, and he was sure that if the roles had been reversed, Thomas would have done the exact same thing for him.

_"Did you know?" Thomas had asked him in the car on the way back. He was still incredulous, wide-eyed and breathless, and God, Richard had wanted to kiss him even then. "Did you know about me before, when you invited me to York? Am I that transparent?"_

_"You're not transparent, Mr. Barrow," Richard had said. "And I didn't know, not for sure, until I saw the raid unfold."_

_"Can't have been a pretty sight."_

_"Not particularly."_

_"Weren't you scared?"_

_Richard had curled his hands tighter around the steering wheel, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead as the scene played out again before his mind's eye. "Yes," he finally said, quietly. "I was scared. But not half as scared as you must have been, I imagine. And that's what made up my mind to act. So you didn't have to spend a minute longer in there than absolutely necessary."_

_"It was incredibly foolish of you. To risk all for someone you barely even know."_

_He grimaced. "Quite possibly."_

_"But thank you. Thank you a thousand times. I suppose I will forever be in your debt."_

_"Oh, I don't know, Mr. Barrow," Richard said lightly, and smiled. "Let's just try and actually make it to the pub next time so you can buy me a beer. Then we'll call it even."_

_At this, Thomas had looked stunned for a moment, then laughed. "You're daft, you know that? You're daft and quite possibly the most extraordinary person I've ever met."_

He wasn't, really. Not daft - he liked to think he was a pretty sensible and even-keeled bloke - and far from extraordinary. He just happened to have a deep hatred of injustice, and what he saw happen at Turton's made him so _angry_.

There was also the fact that he was fiercely attracted to Thomas Barrow on more than one level, but that was neither here nor there, and _not to be thought about while he wasn't alone._

"I'm Yorkie too," Norris was saying, "born and bred. Love the place, really do, but it's changing and no mistake. Have you seen this?" He held up the newspaper, one of the local dailies Richard hadn't had time to buy because he'd had other things on his mind. "Police made a big bust yesterday, put the cuffs on a pack of queers who'd apparently been carrying out their perversions right under our noses. What're we coming to?"

Jaw set, Richard took the newspaper and scanned the little article, relieved to see there were no names mentioned. Still he felt sick.

"What do you make of that?" Norris asked when Richard made no response, staring at the paper long after he'd finished reading.

"Glad to see the police doing something useful, is all," Richard said, folding up the paper and handing it back.

"Just so." Norris nodded. "I hope they've got those perverts good and scared. That'll teach them, carrying on like they're in Sodom. This is York, for crying out loud. If it's that bad around here, I shudder to think what goes on in London."

Richard bit his tongue. _Agree with him, for God's sake. Agree or change the subject before you say something you'll regret._ "Still, you've got to feel sorry for the poor buggers, haven't you?"

Clearly, this didn't please Norris much. "Why would I?"

"Well..." Richard shrugged, buying himself a second. "'s Not like they can help it, is it? Born that way, like some people are born blind. Natural defect."

"Or so they want you to think." Norris smoked his cigarette, eyes not leaving Richard's. "You married, Ellis?"

_Ah, there it was. This he could do. He had done it so many times before._

"Widower." He didn't often resort to this one, but some situations called for it and this was one of them. "Harriet - the late Mrs. Ellis, that is - died in childbirth eight months ago."

"Oh, I'm- that's a terrible business. I do apologise." Norris looked contrite, and Richard inwardly said thanks for the fact that he could always rely on this particular story to hit its mark. Even if he hated himself for using it. "And... the bairn?"

Looking down, Richard shook his head. He felt awful, but he couldn't lie and say that he didn't enjoy the sight of Norris squirming in his seat.

"God, listen, Ellis, I'm really sorry about all that. Didn't mean to mess with an open wound."

"No harm done." Richard saw his chance and took it, reaching into his inside pocket and retrieving his notebook and pen. "But if you don't mind, I think I might use the time to catch up on some correspondence. Let you read your newspaper in peace."

"Of course... Yeah, no problem at all."

Relieved to have that over and done with, Richard changed seats, putting more distance between Norris and himself so he could sit at the window in relative privacy and use the foldout table. He carefully tore out a sheet of paper and wrote down the date, then barely paused to think before putting pen to paper and letting his feelings pour out in ink.

 _Dear Thomas_ , he began, and writing just those two words already put a smile on his face, the unpleasantness with Norris falling off of him, _you'll never guess where I'm writing from..._


	8. Epilogue - Thomas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating went up... ooops :) Figured they deserved some pillow time before I wrapped things up. I'm definitely tempted to write more about them though, let me know if I should. X

_York. A year later._

  
"I'm sorry," Thomas murmurs. He's sleepy and slurring his words a bit, but he doesn't want to give in. Not now, not for a long time. "You were probably expecting more."

Daylight filtering in through the thin curtain, catches on tiny flecks of dust in the air. The room is stuffy, like it hasn't been aired recently, and it isn't likely to get any better if they keep doing what they've been doing. Probably would have been a good idea to open the window a crack; he'd had the time and opportunity, just not the clarity of mind.

He'd had other preoccupations. Anticipation, like a fever in his brain, at the thought of seeing Richard walk through that door after almost a year of surviving on letters and phone calls.

Next to him, Richard stirs, his lips releasing a little sigh against Thomas's neck. "I can't think what you mean. I've never been more comfortable in all my life."

"It's not that I'm not comfortable." _Shut up_ , Thomas thinks. _Shut up before you ruin this whole moment. It's only one you've been thinking of all year_. "It's just that I wanted it to last longer. I don't normally-"

"Thomas." Richard shifts his hand from Thomas's hip to his chest, a simple movement that nonetheless makes his breath stutter. "We agreed to meet not at the train station but at a hotel, in the middle of the day. What did you think I was expecting?"

"I don't know." After a moment's hesitation, Thomas lifts his hand and strokes Richard's wrist, twines their fingers together. _You're really here_. "Something... not quite so quick, maybe? This felt... rather urgent."

Richard chuckles. "Nothing wrong with urgent if it takes the edge off. We all need that sometimes. Didn't it feel good?"

"Fuck yes, it did." Thomas feels himself blush. A grown man of almost forty, _blushing_. "I just want you to know I can do slow, too. And more than what I just did."

"Something to look forward to." They doze quietly for a while, fingers still closely joined on Thomas's chest. It is intimate, peaceful, and slowly Thomas's worry about having fallen short in some way abates. And why not? Richard certainly hadn't complained earlier when Thomas kissed him breathless and pulled him to the bed by his braces before they'd barely exchanged ten words. On the contrary, he'd moved quickly to peel Thomas's jacket off him before being horizontal complicated matters and grinned at Thomas from underneath his lashes.

The memory stirs something inside of him.

_Well. That didn't take long._

"Is there, er..." He licks his lips, feeling strangely timid all of a sudden. "Is there something I should know, moving forward?"

"Not much you don't know about me already, Mr. Barrow."

"Plenty I don't know." Thomas nudges him in retribution, and Richard chuckles. "Plenty we couldn't put in our letters."

"Mmm. True that." Richard rubs his calf along Thomas's leg, _such a tease_ , and props himself up on his elbow. It brings them face to face for the first time after- well, _after_. Richard looks positively disheveled - beautiful, though, more so even than he had been in Thomas's recollection which is saying something - and Thomas imagines he can't be faring much better. "You're asking me what I like in bed, Thomas? Wouldn't you rather find out by doing than by me spelling it out?"

It could have sounded prickly, but Richard Ellis doesn't do prickly it seems - that's Thomas's métier. Instead, it sounds earnest, with just a hint of seduction thrown in.

As such, it is effective.

"Haven't got much time, have we," Thomas murmurs, even though twenty-four hours with this man is pure luxury compared to what he's had all year, which is precisely nothing. "Don't want to waste any feeling my way around..."

"Feeling your way around is exactly what I would like you to do," Richard says, glint in his eye, and Thomas Barrow _giggles_. What has the world come to?

"Wouldn't exactly mind," he says, and before he can say more Richard leans down and they kiss, slow and attentive, unhurried but not without purpose. Thomas fucking loves the sounds they make when they kiss, and he shifts slightly, running his hand up Richard's arm and bare shoulder and finally into his hair. Richard hums, and Thomas fucking loves that too, hearing the man respond like Thomas knows what he's doing.

Well, he does, but... it's been a while.

"It's been ages since I lay in bed with a man," he confesses after they've pulled apart, breathing hard.

Richard nods. "You haven't seen Mr. Webster recently?" The question is not a malicious one, because Richard bloody Ellis doesn't do that either. "Haven't gone dancing again?"

"No dancing, and I met Webster for drinks once or twice. Struggling a bit, he was. Lost his job of course, trouble finding a place that would hire him. I tried to give him some money, but he wouldn't take it. Told him to try and start a new life elsewhere. Haven't heard if he did."

"Poor bloke." Richard sighs and pecks Thomas on the lips. "Give me a second while I go and open a window."

Thomas can't help but stare as Richard crosses the room and reaches behind the curtain to push the window open, making sure to stay out of sight as he does. He has an elegance to him, a way of moving, and seems comfortable even in his nudity. Put a set of tails on him, a glass of brandy in his hand, and no one would know that Richard Ellis is not a gentleman. At least not until he opens his mouth and all that undiluted Yorkishness spills out. When Richard turns around and comes back to the bed, Thomas completely forgets to pretend he hasn't been ogling, instead ogling some more.

 _How are you real_ , he thinks, followed by _how did I get so lucky as to end up in bed with you?_

"Not many chances for a bloke to get some in Downton, I s'pose," Richard says, either oblivious to or ignoring the fact that just fucking _looking_ at him is quickly putting Thomas into a state. "I probably have been a little more fortunate in that regard, being in London. Bigger pond, you know." He shrugs. "It's not like I'm the only queer man at Buckingham Palace, even. There are opportunities. Not many, but there are some."

"And you take advantage, of course." Thomas bites his lip. Was that a little sting in his voice just now?

"Not recently."

"Define recently."

"Mr. Barrow." Richard grins and gets on top of him, straddling his hips and leaning forward on his hands to gaze down at Thomas fondly. "If you're asking if I have been partaking in sexual encounters with men since we met and started corresponding, the answer is no. Why do you think I didn't exactly show endurance myself earlier?"

"I wouldn't have held it against you," Thomas says. _Lies_. "That is to say... we never actually formed an understanding. I-"

"I gave you a token," Richard says simply. Gentle. He's ever so gentle and Thomas still doesn't know what he's done to deserve- "What did you think that meant if not a promise?"

Thomas closes his eyes, cheeks burning. Hidden in his overnight suitcase is a keepsake of his own, his father's pocket watch that used to be broken but no longer is, he repaired it himself, not in the courtyard where clocks are usually taken for repairs but in the privacy of his bedroom. Meticulous work, that, and frustrating a lot of time, but worth every second. It will be worth it even more when he finally gives it to Richard and sees his face...

"Thomas." A finger under his chin. Thomas opens his eyes, heart slamming into his ribs when he sees the open look of affection in Richard's eyes. This man knows about all his past deeds, Thomas has not held back in that regard but chronicled everything in his letters - the deceit, the thievery, the war wound that isn't technically a war wound, all of it - and yet he can still look at Thomas in this way, like he's someone esteemed, appreciated, loved. And above all, _worthy_. Warts and all.

He blinks, swallows. Croaks, "Yes, Dick?"

"Tell me what you want. Honestly."

Well, _that_ he doesn't have to think about.

"You," he whispers, not even caring if he's being pathetic, he just knows that he's in love like he can't remember ever being. Distance hasn't made one iota of difference. He guides Richard's hand to his lips and kisses his fingers tremulously, one by one. "Just you. That's what I want."

And just like that, it seems they have an understanding. Richard smiles, happy as anything, and leans down to kiss him, slowly lowering himself on top of Thomas as they fall back into it just like that. Everything still is an exploration at this point, a journey of discovery, and Thomas loves that, but he loves how comfortable it is too. He feels Richard is something solid - exciting, a breath of fresh air, but _solid_ \- and Thomas finds he's drawn to that. He's done fun and flighty in his time and enjoyed it, definitely, but he's not that boy anymore. He wants stability, as much of it as he can carve out for himself in this world at any rate, and affection and companionship and _love_ , and Richard seems to be offering it all in spades.

For now, though, he has more pressing wants that beg to be met first, and he sighs as he wraps not just his arms but his legs around Richard, pulling him close, skin to skin.

One of these days they actually _will_ make it to the pub and have that beer, surely.


End file.
